Out of the Past (1984)

I know, I know — the original "Out of the Past" from 1947 is holy ground in noir circles. But I want to talk about its moody, synth-drenched 1984 remake, "Against All Odds", a film that flirts shamelessly with neo-noir and somehow bottles Los Angeles at its soft-focused sleaziest. It's not as iconic as its predecessor and, honestly, it's kind of uneven, but man, does it pack a curious punch if you're into smoggy city lights and morally messy characters.

The plot is classic noir with a heavy eighties gloss: ex-football player Terry Brogan (Jeff Bridges, doing his best with the square-jawed tough guy thing) is hired by a slimy nightclub owner to track down his runaway lover, Jessie (Rachel Ward). Because this is noir, he finds her. Because it's eighties noir, sexual chemistry and shoulder pads come standard. The story doesn’t try to reinvent the wheel, and sometimes that’s all right — you can feel it wrestling with that old doomed-romance vibe, slow-burning through the tropics, neon-lit nights, and the inky backrooms of LA.

I won’t sugarcoat it: the pacing is weird. You'll hit stretches of sun-faded romance that play like a music video (seriously, Phil Collins croons all over this) and then suddenly things get grittier. There’s a whiplash between the film’s meditative, almost lethargic vacation pace and the bursts of violent plot. Some people say "deliberate" to be polite, but for me, it mostly stalls the tension, especially in the first third. You wait for something snappy or thrilling to break through, and sometimes you get it — but just as often, you don’t.

Cinematography is where "Against All Odds" really earns its keep. The tropical locations (hello, Cozumel!) are lush and pulse with druggy color, a clever twist on noir’s usual night-scape chokiness. When we’re back in LA, things tighten up; there’s a slick, shadowy look that feels expensive but not over-produced. I wish they’d trusted shadows more — after all, the best noir hides its secrets, not so much with palm trees, but with proper menace in the lighting. Still, certain scenes (like a foggy, desperate chase through a club) have gorgeous, painterly mood.

What actually saves it for me is the acting. Jeff Bridges walks the line between wounded and stupid pretty well, and Rachel Ward looks impossibly beautiful even when she’s supposed to be world-weary, but it’s James Woods who just takes over whenever he appears. He plays the kind of slimeball only noir can really do justice to — all nervy, coked-out charm and sudden violence. He makes every scene tenser, even as the script soft-pedals his villainy. Truth be told, the script is kind of hokey, but in Woods’ hands, clichés feel a little sharper.

The film tries hard to inject emotional weight, but it doesn’t quite nail the existential sadness the original managed with such ease. The romance is a little too glossy, the betrayals a little too telegraphed. You get some strong moments — like the much-talked-about confrontation on a club balcony, a rare spot where you can feel everyone’s desperation — but overall, it leans more into melodrama than heartbreak. Still, even failed attempts at depth are more fun to watch than empty flash, and there’s undeniable chemistry swirling through most of the scenes.

Tonally, "Against All Odds" lives in a strange space. It wants to be brooding and fatalistic but sometimes gets seduced by its own eighties-ness, sliding from dark noir to steamy soap opera. There’s a fine line between homage and full parody, and the movie ghosts back and forth over it. The best moments are when it forgets about the formula and just lets the actors go at each other in smoky rooms or under poolside moonlight.

Is it a great film-noir? No, not really. It’s more of a neon-dusted curiosity, something you’d stumble onto at midnight and then spend half the runtime squinting, thinking, "Have I seen this before?" The bones of noir are there, jutting out awkwardly beneath shoulder pads and pastel sunsets. It’s got a sticky, sad vibe that works in flashes, even if you suspect the filmmakers cared more about mood than getting your heart in your throat. But sometimes a movie is a vibe first and a noir second, and that’s certainly the case here.